


giving value to survival

by yohoapirateslifeforme



Series: trans pirates, or: your primary gender can be a pirate [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Additional Warnings in Summary, Backstory, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Light-Hearted, Male Friendship, Mild Gore, Roronoa Zoro Being an Idiot, Trans Male Character, Trans Roronoa Zoro, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-21 15:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30023784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohoapirateslifeforme/pseuds/yohoapirateslifeforme
Summary: Despite the ever-shifting nature of his ambition, Zoro himself rarely changes: principles, directions, appearance. And when he does, he makes sure it's under the heavy influence of both long-term irritation and a healthy dose of the nearest hard liquor.Or, Zoro is trans, surgeries cost money, and there's little to no verified adult supervision in his life.--Content warnings:Alluded gender dysphoria, transphobia, discussion of off-screen canon-typical violence against a trans character, unsafe binding treated dubiously in a canon-typical manner (don't be like them)Descriptions of injuries and blood, cartoon-ish? gore imagery, non-graphic descriptions/mentions of vomiting, swearingDisclaimer!I am not a trans man. Any and all possible inaccuracies are at the fault of inadequate research + lack of personal experience of this particular kind.Transphobic violence is not a joke or an issue to be overlooked. I made the conscious choice to have the characters sort of gloss over the topic for the sake of the 'light-hearted' nature I wanted this story to have
Series: trans pirates, or: your primary gender can be a pirate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208606
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	giving value to survival

For as long as there had been dirt roads for him to roam, Zoro had been a migrant being. From town to village, dōjō to short-lived apprenticeships, pathways through thick forests and paved footways: his feet were constantly moving somewhere forward when he couldn't find what he was looking for from his pit stops. By the age of 17 he had found both himself and his swords, the number of them a single constant which never changed, adorned by the blood of both bandits and pirates alike, with a name which preceded him wherever he found himself – and it sponsored his food and drink, so who was he to complain? None of the details mattered in the end. _Pirate hunter_ had a ring to it which went along with his ultimate goal: he would be or do anything to cut down the gap between him and the man at the end of his line.

These basic principles of his life had landed him in yet another town in an endless line of them. A nondescript pit of petty criminals and peaceful countryside folk, living their lives among one another like they did on most islands on East Blue. A real hot-spot for the kind of people who enjoyed cheap drinks and had lost a majority of their teeth before the age of thirty. The kind of people who liked to run those toothless mouths of theirs on matters which didn't concern their personal fucking lives. Would've saved a lot of blood and tissue paper had they kept their noses out of _his_ business, in particular.

So, in short, this town sucked ass, so far as Zoro had an opinion. Swiping a forearm over the sticky stains of blood and ale all over his upper lip, cheek and chin, Zoro kicked open the door from inside of the pub and stepped out. The bar fight, as it had turned out to be, was over. He had tiny shards of glass stuck around his upper body and arms, and a nose which might've been broken – if you were some kinda nerd who could tell by such trivial things as the constant dribble of slowly coagulating blood down the bow of your lip and chin. The pain and blood didn't want to cease, but hey, at least the beer had turned out free, and the competition held up until it didn't anymore.

_What a fucking headache._

The sound of two pairs of shoes hitting against the soft dirt road finally caught up with him. Neither Johnny or Yosaku were all that battered up, but both were twice as out of breath as Zoro. All things considered, Zoro couldn't help wondering, for the umpteenth time, why and how the two of them were in such a piss-poor condition, night and day.

”Little bro!”

”Took you guys long enough.”

”Oh, man – _ouch_ – you wouldn't believe how cross the barservant was with us,” Yosaku had earned a single black eye from one of the crooks back at the bar, managing to still keep a hold of his belongings. He hefted the backbag further up his shoulder, hitching his sloppily buttoned shirt into a bunch with it.

Johnny was limping noticeably next to him, almost dragging his left leg along, but had seemingly not suffered any obvious cosmetic reminders. ”Absolutely fuming, bro. You left _quite_ a mess after yourself there.”

”Like a major case of disarrange. Were I in your boots I wouldn't go showing my face in there again.”

”Well, I mean, _we_ both also took part in it…”

Yosaku glanced behind himself with something of a paranoid look in his not-blackened eye. ”Hngh – hope no one's coming after us.”

Zoro rolled his eyes and went for a dismissive snort, which only served to make him cough and struggle around the clot of blood in his nasal cavity. _Good thing_ _I_ _hadn't been planning a re-run_ _then_ , he thought, with one hand covering his bleeding nose and the other descending to the edge of his ratty, once-white shirt and giving it an experimental tug. A reasonable chunk of the fabric ripped off: this would have to do as first-aid.

Their poorly band of strapping young headhunters stopped near a pasture, surrounded by a fence. A pile of cows were their lazy witnesses as they cracked their aching joints, swiped away what excess dirt and fluids they could from their person, rummaged around Yosaku's bag in search of a medical kit. Zoro had an especially fun time trying to pick out as much glass from his body as humanly possible without tweezers, or anything but blunt nails.

They wondered about it for a long time, but in the end none of them could tell for sure if it was broken or not. Zoro's nose felt like certain hell, nevertheless, and maybe even more-so after Yosaku tried to crack it back in shape. He spoke up after a while, answering the long-since proposed conversation opener, simultaneously trying to stick the scraps of rolled up fabric into his nostrils to halt the blood-flow. ”In my goddamn defense,” he began, slightly more aggravated than the situation maybe called for, his voice going stuffy towards the end, ”we were there with peaceful intentions, just looking to eat, pay for our meals and fuck off like everyone else. At no point was I, like, _planning_ to get strung up into a situation like that before money could be exchanged. I can'd be held resbonsible!”

”Man, listen, I hear you,” Johnny said, offering Yosaku assistance with his eye in exchange for the sloppy bandage-job on his leg. Yosaku muttered some comedy about how _he_ couldn't actually hear him, what with the stuffy nose, which Zoro willfully refused to acknowledge, and Johnny ignored in kind, ”but the barkeep himself didn't necessarily need to be knocked out cold like that, wouldn't you agree?”

”Id was his own fault, was id nod? Whad was he sdanding in de middle of de figdt-scene for, adyway?”

”Trying to resolve the situation?

”… Cad it.”

Johnny canned it, and refocused on Yosaku's fucked-up under eye. Zoro, having nothing to add to his defenses, opted to stare at the cows in all their brown-white glory, and listen to the sounds of the upcoming night. As they patched themselves up the best they could with the little they carried, the darkness began to creep up. It had already been late an hour or so ago, when they had first stumbled inside that red brick-walled tavern in search of anything but non-perishable foodstuffs. The cows had been called and ushered inside, the round patch of pasture almost yellow in their wake. It would be a cold night.

A lamplighter, an old man with a cane and his fingertips burned to a crisp black, walked past them then, nodding his greetings in silence and gesturing for the group to fall back, if they wouldn't mind, so he could reach the lamppost the young men had made their temporary camp under. Late autumn brought the nights in early, and the lamplighter continued his work, disappearing farther along the yet-to-be-lit road. Zoro stared as he went, all the way until he couldn't see him anymore, the lamps few and far between. The road led away from the town with its bar and the now entirely toothless thugs, presumably still littering the floors of said bar, unless someone had cleaned them away, half-alive or -dead. Which was really just a matter of perspective.

Zoro breathed in and out, a meaningful measure of action, as good a lungful of air as he could manage. His head felt woozy, air-intake stunted and at its limit at this time of day, and _man_ , he could do with a bottle of something sturdy right now. Not only had his meal been swiped from under his distracted gaze, but the pint of ale had still been basically full before that dude had decked him into the nose. He curled his lower lip at the memory of the forfeited drink, and got up to his feet.

”We should move,” he observed out loud, wandering feet already taking him towards the wrong direction. Johnny and Yosaku scrambled up behind him, their hands falling on both of his shoulders, and dragged him away from the town which they'd already made enough acquaintance with for the day. Once on track, Johnny and Yosaku took inspiration from the cool night and dark-blue sky, chattering about ghosts and the un-dead, complaining about their lack of long sleeves or trousers and howling at the slowly appearing moon. Despite the incident, despite the raggedness of his breath, Zoro found himself amused, and listened in without participating, unless goaded out of his 'cool guy act', as the guys continuously dubbed it. He hadn't known the two of them for that long yet, but they were a laugh and competent enough to manage most of their obstacles on their own. It suited Zoro: he wasn't going to be a bodyguard. He didn't do much anything stagnant, following steadily on the footsteps of his future adversary. Always on the move.

Their collective of three moved forward without a plan and sort of worry-free by now, simply looking for something to do, or somewhere to crash for the remainder of the new night.

* * *

They caught up with the lamplighter, carried past him without lights to follow and managed to the outskirts of the next tiny village in a row of tiny villages, largely thanks to Johnny and majorly not so to Zoro, who kept trying to wander off the path more than thrice. There was still some footway to cover until they could officially say they were done with this leg of the journey, but their pace had slowed down considerably. Mostly, as Zoro thought bitterly, because he couldn't breathe anymore.

Discarding the nose blockers a mile or three ago had helped its own amount, but beyond that, he knew exactly what it were that was slowing down his velocity, knew what to do about it and knew, in that precise moment for a damn fact, that he was _not_ going to deal with that particular variety of restriction anymore.

Johnny, too, observed something akin to his initial revelation, and voiced his concern. ”Yo, Zoro – I don't wanna like, alarm you or nothing, but you've been breathing pretty bad for some time now. Should we stop?” The bounty hunter halted tentatively, pulling at Yosaku's bag so the other would also slow down. ”You doing ok, buddy?”

The reply, ”I've been better”, came out pinched, like he had to force out the words both physically and mentally. He'd always been terrible at it, though improvement came in erratic bursts, but admitting even the slightest weakness in his performance continued to be an every-day struggle. Right now, he couldn't really breathe, painfully aware of the cause, and he couldn't help but wonder back to the bar, ten miles behind.

Thing was, generally he didn't care if people gave him shit or off-hand comments over his physical appearance. There had been all kinds of people, especially after he hit puberty, fawning over him in earnest or seething at him in silence – for a multitude of reasons, he had to admit. Bottom line was that he didn't mind, since he didn't care: other people were a pain in the ass and did not concern him unless they made themselves his problem. He was here to deal his business and be on his merry way. Then there were instances like earlier that evening, when a comment on his looks wasn't just sucking up or needling for the sake of picking at anyone who stood out as unusual. A sleet of comments that were meant to get straight under his skin, belittle him out of existence – hands-on action, which he couldn't help but take note of and act upon. Like, man, he had really been enjoying that damn stew. What a bummer.

He was aware of the attention he commanded by the simple fact of having crazy pecs and gains no regular seventeen-year-old would normally carry themself with. He was plenty strong, but that alone didn't mean that he weren't a fan of his personal space, too. It didn't mean that some good for nothing tough-guy could come and jostle him into a brawl with the single-minded intention of making sure his lady-friend knew that she was leaving the bar with _the_ _real deal_ later on.

 _Such fragile egos_ , Zoro often sighed, and this time wasn't different.

Almost there now, in town. The night had stretched taut over their heads, there wasn't anyone around at this hour. Some of the simple houses had candles lit near their windows, or lanterns on their yards and porches. The lampposts on this stretch of the main road had been lit by some other, probably equally eons-old person assigned the dutiful job of lighting candles to guide travelers around. Almost there, and they'd had to stop to catch their breaths. It felt like a warning, like a forecast of the future. Zoro had his right hand over the three handles of his swords, his other pulling at the neckline of his shirt; chin pressed against his torso as he looked down at his chest, at the sloppily fastened bandages there that routinely did the trick, but left a lot to be desired on the long run. His eyebrows were furiously knotted as he got lost in his thoughts, going over the facts of his lived years. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It would certainly not be the last. The whole thing annoyed him, it was a hindrance, it limited his capabilities. They were on his way, point-blank. They had to go.

Johnny's voice crept over his ears, carried softly with the November wind. ”Bro, what's up?”

”Yosaku.”

”Y-yeah?”

Zoro's chin lifted up, his irises as dark as the night enveloping the three of them, and his hand reached out to the older man, ”You still got that bottle of hooch?”

* * *

_Bottle_ was, of course, a liberal measurement. Strictly speaking the hooch was for medical purposes, stored in a small glass jar which Yosaku always managed to keep up to the brim, somehow. It was a quick-fix for colds, or open wounds. Zoro could never quite get around remembering if one should really handle such liquids near open scars or not, but this wasn't the pressing matter of the moment. What did he need to know about medicine or healthiness, anyway? He knew how alcohol worked.

The liquid was gone in a matter of seconds, and he bristled ever-so-slightly at the aftertaste. Good thing it wasn't the taste he was drinking it for: he didn't even have to be black-out drunk, really! Just buzzed enough so the pain wouldn't knock him out cold before the deed was done.

”Alright,” he swept his palm over the run-off droplet down the side of his mouth, ”I think I'm gonna need some more of that variety.” He popped the cork back into the mouth of the jar and handed the empty thing over to Yosaku's waiting hand. He pocketed the empty jar with a disgruntled mutter, to which Zoro had the decency to shoot a little apologetic smile. Only a little, though: after all, if this wasn't a medical situation, Zoro didn't know what to believe. Then, with the accompanying clapping-together of his own two hands, he continued with a grin, ”Like a big, sturdy bottle of something. Shit, I wouldn't say no to two, either.”

Yosaku and Johnny shared a look. It was the sort that Zoro had learned to mean something along the lines of _can you believe this guy?_ , but he couldn't say he was used to being on the receiving end of the cold shoulder. Slightly miffed over the reaction, he in turn directed to them the indignant, upwards arch of a single eyebrow. After the look was shared and the moment had moved on, Yosaku rubbed at the back of his neck, not in a manner of being uncomfortable, per se, but more in a manner of dread, over knowing he would have to fulfill his eldest bro-duties against his immediate wishes. Johnny stared at Zoro with a perplexed expression.

”And you're gonna do… what, exactly?” he queried.

By a chance (and had he been the sort of fellow to believe in higher powers above, he might've chalked the chance up to their actions), by the most dramatic chance he had ever been witness to, the clouds overhead shifted precisely in that moment, letting the moonlight drop down over their band of swordsmen. He ran a hand over his chin again, as if in deep thought, shooting a devilish look at his two companions. The home-brew was already stewing hotly in his mind, lifting his spirits, loosening up the last bit of nerves that had stuck around. The confession fell from his mouth like water in a spring, but it held a significant change in its depths – it was the most commitment Zoro could remember adhering to in years.

”Gonna cut off my tits tonight.”

To their credit, the guys didn't immediately cry out a resounding _no!!_ or a distraught _why?!_. What they did do was turn very pale in the face, especially Yosaku, Johnny seemingly trying to take in the retort as a demonstration of the dry wit Zoro occasionally showcased. But as the youngest of them didn't break the tense silence with a laugh nor a chuckle, Yosaku finally snapped out of his terror and lifted his hands up in front of him, long-suffering.

”Okay,” he began with his best take on the _I am the oldest, ergo, I am the smartest_ -voice. It usually never worked, and he wasn't too confident this time, either – but it was his sorrowful duty to at the very least _try_. ”I totally understand where you're coming from with this, like, I'll be the last one to question your motives – you know that, right, bro?” His voice reached a note of sincere concern. ”But,” and he got back to his normal cadence, ”I really don't think that that's a job for _you_ to do – last I checked, the most you've used those katana of yours for is to cause a whole lot of internal damage and fatal bleeding.”

”Like a _lot_ of fatal bleeding!” Johnny helpfully added. Yosaku nodded in agreement and continued his preaching.

”Listen, I'm just saying, uh – I-I have no reason to believe that you've been to doctor school before we've met!”

”Don't even worry about it!” Zoro shot back at him, before suddenly holding himself in a slightly curled up position, caught up in a whirlwind of overwhelming strain and exhaustion over the day's exertion. He soldiered on, ”I've got a great plan – you don't even have to think about it, just trust me.”

Johnny's eyes flashed with doubt, and panic, and he piped up with his hands shooting forward in case Zoro was to topple over. He didn't, but Johnny took to holding him by the shoulders anyway, ”Oi, oi – watch it! Bro, you know neither of us wants to play an expert here, but this _super_ does seem like the sorta task that a – well, a trained medical professional should perform! Didn't you say something, how was it, that you're still looking into good surgeons, and stuff? Can't _that_ part wait for now?”

For now, as if that hadn't seemingly been the ever-present case for the past however many months-turned-years of his life. Zoro knew that Johnny or Yosaku didn't mean anything bad with their words, but he was so over this, this – this waiting around like a tool -part! Four years ago from now, he had been _too young to be operated on like that_ , but could still lose half a litre of blood in a swordfight gone to shit and walk it off, apparently; trying again, three years after that first plea, at the age of sixteen, and he had been questioned about his intended method of payment for such services. How irritating – did they also make tuberculosis-patients cough up some cash upfront?! Not that he would ever consider himself ill (sick and tired, maybe), despite what some moralizers tried to convince him of, but a medical operation was what it was, right? He had traveled for most of his life, with the thought of top surgery on the back-burner of his mind, yet not a single qualified doctor of the sort had been bothered to make themself known or shown up on his path. There had been zero cases of strange, off-putting quacks in it for the money and/or booze, who could've hacked something on his person into the right direction and left him to deal with the aftermath by his damn self, as was his usual, preferred strategy to work out his injuries.

 _If you want something done_ , he mulled in his mind now, the moonlight shifting over his features, _you just have to take matters into your own two hands_. Similarly to how he knew alcohol, he was also an old-timer with the ways of sharp objects and how to handle them. His goal-oriented, admittedly one-tracked mind was already wondering about the possibility of a well-stacked tavern still open at this time of night.

Johnny was still talking. He seemed completely ignorant to the fact that Zoro's attention had been far away from his words for some time now, zoned into his own devious plans. Johnny shook him a little, his hold on Zoro's shoulders stubborn but not restrictive.

”… so what I suggest we do is find an inn or – or a tavern, whatever there is that'll take us for the night, get you out of the bindings, right? We could also clean up the rest of the glass shards from your arms, and then just, I don't know? Mull this over for the night, eh? Right, Yosaku, c'mon, you're the eldest – wouldn't you agree? Right, that's exactly what we should do –”

It was a cheap trick, he knew it immediately, but Zoro cut him off anyway – the weight of that choice stayed weighting him down until the moment he got his hand around an uncorked bottle of spirits. ”You're aware I'm gonna buy you your drinks, right?”

Let it not be said that the pair of them, Johnny and Yosaku, Yosaku and Johnny, were of feeble mind and weak morals, nor a troubling influence for their younger peers. They prided themselves in the fact, and mostly for a good reason, that they could be mistaken for older than they really were, more mature than the other ne'er-do-well hooligans rummaging around the seas. Any time someone happened to take note of them as especially grown and smart next to someone like Zoro – Zoro, with his tightly knit, serious brows and chiseled looks and crazy fast jump from preadolescence to an adult-looking, human person – the two of them would smile smugly at their crossed arms or up into the skies, very pleased at their level of adulting. It was a real feat of a man, the pair of them would chuckle, to be seen as an elder and a wise adviser, who was worth being trusted upon and marveled at.

With all that in mind, let it be known and written down in records, that the pair of them were also, regrettably, in their early twenties. Booze after a bar fight gone south – for free, you say? Anyone with the old 2 and 0 in their name and a nasty case of _per_ _-_ _my-last-drink-_ _which-_ _was-so-rudely-interrupted_ would be hard-pressed to not take up the offer. Letting one man's bad idea fester further in said man's teenaged baby-brain just for a selfish chance to carouse was… simply the way of the land! Merely what being a mercenary of the seas was about, at its unofficial, lawless core.

And, to be completely fair: it's not as if they were the one's to infest this idea in Zoro's mulish, stiff-necked head in the first place. Could they truly be held accountable? The risk of them influencing Zoro in any which way was near zero – notably now, when the boy had a destination.

A figurative one, of course.

* * *

”What're you doing?”

Kuina hadn't looked up from her handiwork. A big box which usually held the specially hardy bandages – which Zoro had gotten to know pretty intimately during his time at the dōjō, with his multiple bitter losses and the resulting injuries – was nearing its bottom, the few last of the contents wrapped around her chest. She had looked up at Zoro from under her eyebrows and then back down again, letting the hair on her temples fall over her eyes while she secured the tape. Once finished, she had smacked the front of her chest twice with the palm of her hand, a satisfied smile on her face.

It had been quite early in the morning. Zoro hadn't known exactly how early, mostly thanks to his inability to read the time, but early enough that he and Kuina were the only ones awake in the building. This hadn't been a new development in and of itself, the two of them sneaking down to the training grounds of the area, hidden in the dimness of the morning, both with the intention to snag a few extra hours of training without the others – but the location from where Zoro had found her was unexpected. And the act.

On the steps which led to the backyard, not wearing a shirt but her chest and shoulders covered like she'd suffered an injury. Zoro hadn't been able to stop staring at her covered torso. It had been insanely flat under the bandages.

”Just trying out a thing, dweeb,” she had said, without heat, pushing up to her feet. Her movement had been a little stiff, but she'd been sporting a smile, nevertheless. ”But hush, you can't say anything to the other guys. Or my father. I'll lift you hanging from your stupid ears from the clothesline if you rat me out.”

A bratty, insolent noise had escaped from Zoro's mouth. ”Psh, I dunno 'bout you, but I don't have time to be bad-mouthing my every rival like that. Like I care what you do with your looks.” He had swiped his hands over the front of his pant legs before asking, in a slightly different voice, ”Does that help, or something?”

The older of the two pre-teens had looked at him, still with a grin on her face, ”I don't know yet. But I think I feel unstoppable.”

Absently, Zoro had ran his hand over his arm. He was a few years younger than Kuina – he had time, but it seemed that he also had options. There were options.

”That's good, then.”

Kuina had put on her shirt. The difference had barely been there, with the shirt as baggy as it was, but Kuina had looked happy.

”You wanna jog to the bakery before the others wake up? I haven't had breakfast.”

”Yeah. Me neither. See you there.”

”Hey, you utter snot! That was a foul start, dammit!”

* * *

A fair chunk of time passed from Kuina's death, and only then did Zoro find out that the bandages weren't an easy-fix for his troubles. Even if the bandaging made life inside his skull easier, the sentiment definitely didn't carry to the aching ribs and strained muscles, and the map of scars and stretchmarks on a person's skin – and when it came to movement, actually working your way around the handle of a blade and your opponent, the whole ordeal felt like pulling teeth. Kuina had persisted with the bandages almost every day after that first morning, despite it all. She had never kept it up an entire day, but it must have still left its mark. Not that there had been too many mornings left for her, he grimaced, but he had accepted the reality of her demise after the panic and denial had washed over and settled into a persuading fire.

He had options, yet this one had stuck. He did stop using the bandages almost immediately after he'd started using them, changing them for simple non-stick white gauze once he found out that it held up well enough, in a much more tolerable manner. The binders he'd seen some people use along his travels didn't do much for him, and moreover, after he had cut his first one into an unrecognizable pile of cloth in a freak-accident of falling from great heights while carrying three sharp blades, he decided to steer clear of them. Not like he could afford a new one every two weeks, anyway. And as a proper surgical operation was seemingly not even on the table for the likes of him, he had opted to accept the things he could and couldn't do, and not give a shit the rest of the time. But enough was enough.

A November night, still licking the fresh wounds from a fight he could barely be held accountable for, feeling the bruises forming in peppered flecks near his ribs – this was as good a time as any for an attempt at a homemade mastectomy.

* * *

He held out an arm, ”Pinch me.”

”Huh? What, why?

The singular inn that sold drinks in the town had been on its way to closing for the night, and since Zoro had petulantly refused a simple night-cap and a moderately soft bed with actual linens, they'd agreed to buy a few bottles of this and that to go with the coppers and gold Zoro fished out of his boots, and then their band had left the establishment, leaving the innkeeper to blow out candles and lock the door.

An autumn night on an autumn island was ordinarily not the optimal place and time for drinking and leisuring outdoors, but somehow – undoubtedly with the help found from the bottom of their bottles – the trio managed a blast. The full, blue-tinted moon washed over them, as Johnny desperately tried to balance his bottle on the blade of his dadao sword, and Yosaku laughed merrily at his failed attempts, and Zoro finished the first of his three tall bottles in the blink of an eye. He hadn't meant to drink himself stupid, he managed to realize, and halted the swig he'd been planning to devour from the second green-glass bottle. He still needed the full capacities of an adept swordsman – it wouldn't do, now would it, to get impossibly plastered on cheap sake and start stabbing oneself in the chest all willy-nilly. That'd be childish, and definitely a problem in the future. What he _had_ planned to do was drink himself _numb_.

And if he also happened to become a _little_ bit drunk, then that just couldn't be helped, yeah?

”C'mon Yosaku, stop being such a pussy – just pinch me, look, on the upper arm. Ya wanna an example, huh, on how to pinch someone? Don't you guys have siblings or what's the problem?” Zoro laughed, and got his hands on Yosaku's shoulder, twisting it with stumbling fingers. Yosaku's howl was high and followed by laughter and an attack against his offender.

”You piece of shit – that hurt!”

”That's the point!”

Johnny goaded them on even further, laughing and clapping his hands together raucously. ”Yeah, Yosaku, what's the matter? Can't take a little roughhousing from the deeeeemon hunter of the East Blue, or sumthing?” With the epithet he changed the tone of his voice into a mixture of a ghoulish terror and an overly-excited announcer. ”Man, 'Saku, I didn't take you for such a wuss.”

With a chorus of hollers and cheers from Zoro, Yosaku changed his direction and jumped at Johnny, instead, trying to wrestle him into submission. Johnny just laughed, trying to push the other away from his person.

”Come 'ere, o nightmare of outlaws, I'll pinch your damn arm,” he called from under Yosaku's unmoving weight after a moment, not all that bothered now that Yosaku had shifted from his madcap anger into genial laughter, although his hand was still clutching at Johnny's faux mohawk with something of an passive-aggressive sort of force.

Zoro, uncharacteristically (if anyone had asked) giddy over the scene unfolding before his innocent request, punched his fist up with an accompanying, elated whoop of ”yes!”, and staggered up to a pinching distance from Johnny. The pincher tried his best, yet Zoro couldn't feel a tingle of the act. He barked out a confident laugh, clutched his stomach and spilled the insides of a freshly-capped bottle on to the cobblestone they were sitting on. _Oh_ , he thought, _that's gotta be it._ _W_ _ouldn't have_ _gambled_ _the_ _one bottle to be enough_ _,_ _but I_ _s_ _up_ _pose_ _it's all the same._ _More for later, then._ _I_ _'_ _m_ so _ready_ _to_ _get_ _this_ _done_ _already_.

They had plastered their heavy bones and day-dirty bodies atop chilly cobblestones, but they were also surrounded by and leaning heavily onto wooden crates and garbage cans, their merrymaking lit by a single flickering candlelight drooping from a pendant lantern. The lantern was screwed into the wall of a somewhat-fancy building, the one that was shielding them from the errant eyes of night guards or other early/late workers like such. Yosaku had been ready to bet the brick building was a bank, whereas Johnny had pictured it as the hearth of the town, the local butchery or some other food-related blessing of a shop. Whatever the correct answer be, the alley behind the brick-house certainly was full of randomly discarded bits and pieces, most notably the leaking fabric pouches reeking of rotting remains of something once alive. Zoro personally wouldn't have ruled out the bank as an option.

Zoro's companions, still in a heap over one another, had resumed their spiel about the possible resident of their backdrop, as he stood up from his crouched position next to them, clapping his hands together as he went. ”Alllright, it's time,” he started. ”Bust be gone, all that. I'm fucking ready, shit, never been this ready in my life.”

Lightweights as they notably were, both Johnny and Yosaku were up on their shaky feet in a matter of seconds, their earlier reluctance to humor this operation merely a memory in the wind. Their level of eagerness to see this stunt through had risen with the amount of alcohol in their blood. Johnny's approach was more ceremonious, with his open palm over his heart; Yosaku had an arm around his partner's shoulders, his expression visibly jovial, yet ever so slightly pale over the anticipation.

Johnny coughed slightly, ”You wanna say some parting words, then? To uhh – those? Them?”

”Thits,” Yosaku proudly assisted.

”Thits! Show some fucking respect, man!” Johnny elbowed him.

Dumb as it may have been, Zoro couldn't help but smile a sloppy grin at the older men, slapping his chest for good measure to show that no offence had been taken. He had removed the bandages once they'd reached their drinking-location, also taking the time to scavenge some of the remaining pieces of glass still poking out from his arms at Johnny's request. He wasn't feeling particularly weepy or sentimental, although he did have a symbolic gesture in mind. He felt like he needed to honor his best rival in some way. Maybe in a way he wouldn't even be here without her indirect guidance. Whatever Kuina's own reasons had been, they were none of Zoro's business, but using her sword to cut away the source of such anxieties felt like the right thing to do. Her memory would guide his hand. The white scabbard of Wado Ichimonji was practically itching on his side, electric to the touch as he ran a careful hand over it.

”Nah,” Zoro replied to Johnny's question, unbuckling the other two swords from the belt hoops by his hip. He handed them over to his friends. ”In the end, I don't know if I have any, like, super fond memories to commemorate?”

Johnny took a hold of the two remaining swords in a manner that was almost saintly, cradling them to his arms. ”That's fair. Well… any annoying little things you're _really_ looking forward to be living without?”

There were plenty of little things, but none of them truly stood out as strikingly unbearable. He'd never particularly paid any mind when people stared at him and made an entire damn deal out of it if he went anyplace public without a shirt, though the shtick had definitely started to tick him off in increasing amounts as of late. And sometimes he would really struggle trying to justify the amount of money he spent on gauze, but then again, his brain started to give him hell if he went without the compression for too long. People could always piss off if they had something to say about him, like he gave two shits about that, but keeping his mental stuff in balanced control had and would be quintessential, even more so moving forward. Keeping his mind, actions, thoughts – all of it in control, was what would make him the greatest swordsman in the world one day. If something was an inconvenience, he got rid of it. He wasn't only willing and asked to sacrifice: he could also part with things without any major hang-ups. This was merely an additional step in him shaping his own destiny, keeping his own control and steadfastness, creating his own reality. Keeping up the momentum.

”Eh, nothing I've lost sleep over.” He looked around, almost idly. The night really was eerily quiet. Not even farm animals to make noise – the livestock had been taken in their stables for the night, frigid, as he had presumed. From their vantage point he could make out a few windows that still adorned soft, fading lights in them, but absolutely no one was out and about, ready to scold them for the ruckus they had caused up to this moment, nor to stop what was to come.

”Alright. I'm gonna get to it now.”

Johnny still looked solemn, with a scarcely concealed pride about his appearance. Zoro caught the tail ends of a sniffle from his direction. He heaved a sigh as he carefully began to settle himself on the ground, trying to take off his shirt for the second time that night.

”Man, if yer gonna start weeping…”

”Obviously I won't!” Johnny was quick to argue against such a claim. Yosaku smoothed his hand over his companion's shoulders in a soothing, _it's gonna be okay_ -sort of motion. It seemed to mollify him, his next words punctuated with more poorly hidden sniffs, ”But like, so what, maybe I am feelin' a lil choked up, y'know? You're our bro and – and you're taking these huge steps and making yourself and all that and – I dunno. 'm just really… happy for you. It's sort of a big deal.” A contemplative silence followed. Johnny ran a hand over the katana tucked in his arms for a lack of anything better to do. ”Like, you're _allowed_ to make it a big deal, too. I hope you realize that, bro.”

”And that you're gonna look _twice_ as badass afterwards!” Yosaku's voice reminded, breaking through the moment as he adjusted and changed his shoulder-hold of Johnny to a companionable, one-armed hug by his waist.

The booze-fueled enthusiasm and cheesy sentimentality over his homemade top surgery made something hitch within his chest, between his habitually cracked rib cage. It dawned on him then, that these guys were, had and would be his supporters with this and all his other ambitions, inebriated or not – and that made Zoro feel ever the more confident. He really was glad that they had stuck around with him all this time. But he said nothing, instead choosing to sit with his silent musings.

His arms got caught up in the sleeves of his shirt.

”Fuck – hey, can you, uh, help me? I can't actually lift my arms all that much, hurts like hell…”

Yosaku let go of Johnny, and helped. Once he managed to struggle the shirt off of Zoro, he again took a step back, 'folding' the cloth in his hands into a crumbled ball. He and Johnny stood close by, like soldiers on duty, though their sloppy postures could do with some improvement. ”Aight, lil bro,” Yosaku started, ”the floor's all yours.”

Zoro sat down on his knees, unsheathing the sword in a quick movement and watching the glint of it against the moonlight for a taut moment.

The moment lingered. Eventually Johnny queried, in what was almost a whisper, ”Did'ya have somesorta… plan in mind? On how you're gonna do it?”

”Maybe you should've drawn some guidelines around your chest. That's always a big help when you're cutting fabrics.”

Johnny swiped a free hand across Yosaku's head, snorting a laugh, ” _That's_ no fabric, dummy!”

”Well what do I know?! I'm just spit-balling ideas, here!”

All the while, as the moment had stretched into a tad less taut one, Zoro had began to feel incredibly lightheaded, more and more as the seconds crawled forward. The almost 12-hour compression of the bygone day, the comparatively minor blood-loss from their fight – and fine, _maybe_ also the alcohol, if the few concerned doctors he'd met on his travels had any integrity to their names – were finally creeping up to him. He shook his head to clear up his mind, suddenly feeling the dull ache of his injured nose, otherwise almost forgotten. He couldn't tell this to the others now, lest they sobered enough to force his hand away from the hilt of the katana. It wasn't that he was afraid of what they might say if he lost heart now, no, it was the _living with himself if he chickened out_ -part that he couldn't stand to think, not after all that pep-talking and preparation. _Focus, for shit's sake!_ _De_ _ep breaths_.

Along the first inhale, a pang of something sound an alarm at the back of his skull and in the pit of his stomach, like he were going to be sick. Taking into account the whole point of them getting wasted that night, he felt sorta pissed at the amount of senses currently distracting him. Yet nothing was clearly telling him to back down from danger. There was no fear: he was beyond excited.

”Fuckyeah, dude, I've got a plan,” he interrupted Johnny and Yosaku, voice growing more frenzied and taking on a higher pitch, like he was in a hurry to get the words out. ”I'll take this here sword and run it – straight thru 'em, see, from the bottom to the top. One smooth goddamn move. No worries.” The next words came out a bit slurred, ”Think I could do 'em both in one-go?”

”Both in one –?”

”D'ya dare me though?”

After jokingly considering it for a moment, neither of them did, which Zoro found a little disappointing in the state of mind he was in. All of them continued amiably, still, the spirits keeping their spirits high – finally Zoro told them to shush, to give him some space. He raised Wado Ichimonji up to level with his chest. The command of the action silenced the night even further.

The blade was turned against his skin, nearly touching the flesh. Zoro swiped a tongue over his night-dry lips, and looked down at the distorted image of his rosy-cheeked face from the impeccably kept metal of the blade, as it suddenly lurched closer to his right breast, his reflection growing foggier in what was almost no time at all. A sharp intake of breath –

– from Yosaku, as he, in a tone of voice that indicated realization, murmured from miles away, ”Wait shouldn't he be like, 'sleep or sumthing –?”

It was a sobering moment – in theory. Had he been truly conscious of the situation, he might've had the forethought to stop trying to ram a sword up and through his own chest. When metal scraped fat tissue on that night, something, maybe for the first and last time in his life, somewhere deep within the heavy mist of his tiny mind began to scream like bloody murder. Self-preservation, maybe?

(Much like that 'something' on the inside, he had also shrieked rather mightily on the outside. He didn't remember this detail afterwards.)

What he did recall was how, even after clearly drawing blood, the cut he had made was far from the worst kind he'd endured up to that point of his life. It had felt like a stab wound, so like yeah, not pleasant – but it hadn't been unbearable. His senses (S _till not numb?!_ ) had been bombarded with the taste of iron, smell of blood, sweat crawling down his neck and forehead, all solid proofs that – _oh? So I can actually work with this?_ _Alright,_ _then._

_Only Death can get me to discard this sword now._

The last dregs of his self-preservation rattled the cage around it fervently.

He jammed and lashed out the length of the sword across the entirety of the underside of his chest once more. That did it.

It didn't complete his mastectomy – but it got him thinking, for the first time, _what the fuck is wrong with my plan?_ , when what could in all fairness be described as a waterfall of blood began to gush down his abdomen, down onto the pavement and over his thighs and knees.

Faintly irritated, he noted the frankly offensive cocktail of smells for the first time for what it was – offensive. Blood, bile from someone's vomit hanging in the air, the salty, pungent smell of sweat and someone's tears garnishing it all. A frigid autumn breeze spreading it everywhere.

”Fuck,” he managed, words complete mangled putty when they fell from his mouth. A shaky, half-hearted intake of breath was the next thing. His sword fell from his loosened grip, the noise of the fall startling him. ”Shit. That do not – feel right. Shit!” The flood of his own blood was warm, and approximately everything else in and around him felt as cold as the grave. ”Bullshit!!”

He fainted without another word, falling face first into the cobblestones.

* * *

Years after the incident, Zoro still couldn't retell a coherent story of what had happened after that final frustration-induced valediction – the blackout had been one of full force. A backhanded sort of regret sometimes plagued his mind – the plan in its entirety could've maybe been better – but other than the physical changes, he's had to parse the night from the scrappy recollections of his companions on that fated night.

Apparently his knowledge of the human anatomy hadn't been the best, thus the _excessive_ bleeding instead of the clot of fat he'd been hoping for. After his mind had gone blank, from pain or shock, or maybe simply the sheer blood-loss, and after Yosaku could hold his ground again on shaky, newborn feet and Johnny managed to wipe away the tears from blinding his eyes, the two of them had screamed for help, and grabbed Zoro – if the bruises left behind had been of any indication – from whichever limb they could, and hoisted him up, jostling him around in the process, too panicked to think sensibly.

(They had apologized to him profusely, while filling him in on the rest of the night's adventures later on. Zoro had been too cheerful to stay offended about it. He had actually laughed. He had been doing that a lot.)

They'd had to carry him around town for what felt like an unreasonable amount of time, but eventually, after various lantern-lights had been thrown their way from a dozen different households, one particular door had opened. A heavy, brass colored door, the lights from inside cutting the darkness in pieces; a stern voice beckoning them inside. Then, this person had taken a hold of Zoro's hand, his body lax between Johnny and Yosaku's hold, using him as a connector to guide the trio into the right direction.

Within minutes, he'd been laid down into a reclined position, a relative softness behind his back which he himself couldn't recall, either. Add a minute and some to that and he was properly sedated, drifting to a world of cotton and the stinging odor of disinfectant.

He had seen a dream of terracotta hands turning a sickly white, open wounds and red cataracts. Squishy mass between his fingers.

In the dream, with a hazy sort-of laziness about his gaze, he had seen Yosaku bent over a little ways from his secluded operation table, puking onto the wall of the fancy stone-building. Johnny had been more of a champ, fussing and crying audibly, looking frantic, yelling something at Yosaku. He couldn't keep quiet, as if someone was dying. A disgusting noise sounded from between retching and sobs, something heavy and organic landing near the dream-Zoro's feet. He had thought for a moment, _could that_ _be_ _my_ _heart?_

His friends had both been crying by that point, toppling over bottles, leaving behind broken glass and puddles. One of them had re-sheathed Kuina's sword; the other had thrown his own hoodie over Zoro's body, pulling it over to try and cover the scene on his chest; they'd both taken a hold of him, one around the knees and the other from the armpits, lifting him up with a lot more force than strictly necessary or expected.

The rest of the vision had been a seemingly endless stream of gory, gray porridge.

He had felt curiously calm over it in his dream.

* * *

”I'm perfectly aware of the excellent arguments about water scarcity you brought up earlier,” a rough voice scoffed from the edges of Zoro's stirring subconsciousness, ”but somehow you shit-for-brains brats continue to reek like an accident at a public urinal. Could you, for the love of God, go and do somethin' about that already. No, shut up, I don't care what or where, change your damn clothes. Your friend is goin' to be fine even without your constant companionship…”

The ceiling was flaking off strips of white paint, and from the window next to where Zoro had been laid down a stark, golden light had began to pour into his eyes. He had been about to thrash around for eye-coverage, or reach out to close the cream-colored curtain, but quickly found himself bound down by a searing pain from the top of his abdomen up to his armpits, shooting straight into the length of his arms. _What the hell – ?_

”Zoro!”

”Lil bro!!”

”Or don't listen to me at all, whatever, that's also a viable option…”

The elated voices of both Johnny and Yosaku weren't a surprise; the pain, the bed and the sweating ceiling above him, were. The same surprise also applied to the third voice, which seemingly belonged to a tall woman wearing an off-white gown and an eyepatch over her right eye. Zoro had to squint against the sunlight, so he only got her details after she moved next to his bed, past the two-man-crowd of Zoro's friends.

Before anyone could get a word in, least of all Zoro, the woman had laid one vacant hand over Zoro's chest, absentmindedly pulling the curtain of the window closed with the other. Immediately when the touch landed, Zoro was ready to bark out an affronted warning at her, the obvious hospital attire be damned – but as her hand only glided over to feel at his rib cage, the fight flooded out of him. The top of his mouth tasted like shit, and not only that, he also _felt_ like shit.

And his voice didn't fare much better. ”What the fuck's going on?”, he croaked, trying to get up on the bed. The memories from the last time he was awake were… murky, to say the least.

The woman – the doctor, or the surgeon, or whichever damned healthcare worker she may have been – pushed him back down into a reclined position. She seemed almost bored as she raised an eyebrow at him. Yosaku and Johnny had joined them at the foot of Zoro's bed, hands latched onto the foot-board.

”Your friends here tell me,” her single-eyed glance turned to the other two men, and the expression of faint boredom shifting into that of an irate reprimand. The guys were awkwardly looking at all directions which weren't her, ”that they more or less willingly let you be the type-a wise fuckin' guy who'd perform his own top surgery in a public, utterly contaminated setting – and under the influence, no less! Perfect scene, wouldn't you agree?!”

She turned around sharply, said friends of his jumping a bit. Her next line seemed to continue a branch of some conversation the three of them had been having before Zoro woke up. ”I cannot believe how stupid you could be! You're older than this pipsqueak, you could've tried actin' your damn age… and then choosing the most horrid, plague-ridden alley in all town to perform this fuckin' stunt? I'm by no means an outdoorsy lady myself, but I'm still pretty damn sure there are patches of nice pastures and grassy knolls 'round here, somewhere!” She drew a breath, and for a moment it seemed as if she'd said everything she had to say on the matter. When she continued, her vigor was much the same as before, however it had taken on a bit of a rambly quality, ”Y'know the butcher here, they do not care for health and hygiene regulations, right? I don't think I've ever seen them dispose of cow parts in a way that _didn't_ end up resembling a dug up graveyard. I oughta collect all your heads for this one, lord in heaven…”

”But… but, well, he's alright now? It turned out all fine in the end –” Yosaku was timid to say anything, and this particular addition only managed to make the woman grind her teeth together. Zoro could almost smell the nervous sweat on Yosaku's forehead, even through the ever-present stench of vomit and alcohol.

”Sheer. Dumb. Luck. And lucky that I know what the fuck I'm about,” she ran a hand over her hair, ”Like I get it, kid, the waitin' lists are anything but ideal, the cost of an operation is outrageous, there's barely any professionals 'round these parts, anyway… but this seemed a bit excessive, dontcha think? I wish you could've just waited till my official hours began. Now – ”

She pushed her hand onto Zoro's bandaged chest once more, forcing him to lay down as he had yet again tried to sit up against her orders. He had listened to her rant with only a half a groggy mind. As she'd been speaking, a flash of recognition had come to his grasp, and the bandage wrappings covering his upper torso had began to solidify his memories. He thumped back down onto his pillow and mattress.

” – you really needa stop actin' like you're indestructible, my _good sir_. When I tell you to stop tryin' to get up, the least you could do is _that_. Your scars are gonna stretch and open and you'll be foldin' in half like a piece of cardboard before you know it. Well, obviously I jest,” the doctor-surgeon lamented, moving her hand in a vague gesture, ”for the most part. But you'll definitely prolong this damn stay and further hurt yourself if you keep actin' as if this is just another fuckin' run-of-the-mill Sunday with the boys.”

”So I succeeded, then?” Zoro mused, swiping the flat of his hand over his chest. The strain in his body, though shitty a moment ago, now felt right, like it often did after a good fight.

”What?”

”In that I had the guts and willpower to hack off my tits without anyone's help – ”

”What?!” Her one visible, brown eye locked with Zoro's steely gaze. She seemed to be simultaneously bristling with an angry energy, yet world-weary down to her very essence. A hand came up to her temple, agitatedly pushing the skin around there. ”No – no, you insufferable brat… most you did was carve a guideline pattern for me to follow and work with and try to fuckin' salvage, I'll give you that much! – mind you, those ain't the prettiest damn scarrings you'll be sportin',” she pointed at his torso absently, ” – but you also gave me a whole lotta work to have a headache over, all in one. I don't suppose I'm wrong to assume that you've never held an anatomy book in those grubby hands of yours, correct? Might've had a pretty grim intervention from some of those guts, had you ' _had the guts_ ' to go through with one of the cuts you made.”

An embarrassed heat rose up to his ears and cheekbones. Johnny and Yosaku had the decency to not laugh completely out loud, in the wake of the horrific implications of her words.

”What's it to you what I do with my own damn time,” he grumbled, turning his head slightly away from her intense stare. The woman sighed and moved from his bedside to the opposing wall and the window there. The room had two rows of beds in it, both lines lined up along the long walls, with little tables next to them. Standard hospital stuff, though the space wasn't terribly spacious. It could probably hold ten, twelve patients in it, if close quarters weren't an issue. He thought he saw her hastily fill and light up a wooden pipe once she got the window open. Johnny glanced a side-eye her way, as she quietly gathered her bearings after the night of procedure.

”So, did I miss something crucial?” Zoro started, and Johnny's face snapped back at him. Yosaku smiled at Zoro, with a little tentative smudge in the expression.

”Turns out you're not _cut out_ to be a surgeon after all,” he tried, successfully, as both Johnny and Zoro immediately groaned in response.

The groans died down, and Yosaku started again, ”Yeah no, but seriously. When we dragged you around town – ”

Johnny elbowed him to his side, not subtle in the least, ”You mean to say when we carried him _immediately_ to the first medical person we found, don't you, 'Saku, my dear?”

The act was very transparent, but Zoro let it be. He'd get the full story from them some other time.

” – yeah I mean, duh, that's what we did. Absolutely. And, uh, Big Sis,” Yosaku pointed a thumb at the woman leaning on the frame of the window across from them, ”was _pissed_. And I don't mean in the fun way we were, either."

”She was like, remarkably displeased.”

”I'd wager it didn't help that that was the moment Johnny decided he felt sorta sick, too.”

”Uh, you're one to speak!”

”Guys, guys,” Zoro tried to butt in, he regretted even asking. As the two weren't showing any signs of continuing their recap, nor ceasing their quarrel, he turned to the doctor. She held the pipe in her hand, blowing some of the final lungfuls of smoke into the room, even after going through the trouble of opening a window and everything.She was looking towards him when he met her eye. He lift an eyebrow in challenge.

”You don't seriously think I'm gonna stay here for another night?”

She snorted – some more of the smoke twirled around from the action. ”I'm afraid my occupational-oath requires such a sentiment to be fulfilled.”

”And what happens once I just pack my shit and leave? I'm a busy man, you know,” Zoro responded, fingers absently tapping a rhythm along his stomach and up his torso. He didn't have time to stick around doing nothing like some layabout. He had places to be, swordsmen to fight. Cities to walk through without a shirt.

The woman shrugged, ”You'll miss out on a great opportunity to get on T, if that's in your interests, and you'll probably hurt yourself senseless since you seem like the type.” She yawned, and let her chin rest on her hand, elbow propped on the windowsill. ”But my, where're my fuckin' manners – I'm doctor Leuto, charmed, who the hell might you people be? I don't think I got any of your names in the snafu that was this morning at half past four.” Her smile was sardonic and all teeth, but her voice was sincere, ”Don't worry, I'm not writin' it down nowhere. Would just like to know who I'm housin' for the _next couple of days_ , is all.”

Zoro didn't miss the emphasis. He grimaced, in a similar, sarcastic manner. They were both in on the joke, an agreement out of necessity. He assumed that Hawk Eyes wouldn't disappear from the face of the earth in a handful of days, after all.

”The name's Roronoa Zoro – no need to pen it down. It'll come to you once it's heralded 'round the world.”

* * *

Doctor Leuto left the trio alone in the ward after making sure that the bandages around her patient weren't loose anywhere. She promised to be back in a moment: she was going to brew coffee and find some scrub for them all.

”We don't usually offer a personal room-service like this, your royal highnesses,” she mocked, ”so better not get used to it. You're just a sorry sight, that's all. Plus, as I've stated, I have to keep you here anyway, Mr. I Was Bruised Even Before The Surgery, so I guess I'd better make the deal a little more enticing.”

After a final remark over her shoulder, directed to Johnny and Yosaku, to freshen up before she came back (” _A_ _nd_ _I'm_ _seriously_ _done lettin' you get away with this_ ”), she was gone through the double doors.

The guys found a shower head in a corner, the floor of the area tiled and fashioned with a drain and simple plastic curtains for privacy. It was probably not meant for able-bodied non-patients, but they weren't in anyone's way in their current situation. Shrugging, they stripped to their boxers and made idle talk while helping each other wash the remains of the past night from their hair, face, arms and armpits. They too had gained new bandages for their faint injuries, and after the quick clean-up they didn't seem at all battered or worse for wear. Yosaku's mop of blond hair dripped water long after they were done, and he was shaking himself around like a dog; Johnny whined how his hair product had run low as he collapsed on top of an empty bed next to Zoro's. Zoro caught most of the casual tangents, though he scarcely responded anything. His mind was slowly numbing with exhaustion from the operation, and otherwise preoccupied with odd, softly filtered thoughts.

He faintly wondered why his companions hadn't gone searching for proper quarters, instead settling on the thin mattresses of the sickbay, but he slipped into slumber before he could get the question out. It was some of the best sleep he had ever had.

* * *

The scars were jagged as all hell, he concluded with a stupid grin on his face once he finally got to see them. Doctor Leuto, in contrast, smacked her lips disapprovingly, a stickler for a certain level of perfectionism as he had come to learn during the first days of his stay. She'd had to stitch together more than just your typical top surgery scars, after all, but Zoro threw his head back at it all and smiled like a proud lion at his reflection on the mirror. _How do you like 'em battle-scars –_ _should've seen the other guy!_

Yosaku and Johnny appeared behind them like benevolent shadows, eyes as large as saucers and mirthful smiles on their faces. ”Like a weight off your chest, right?” One of them quipped, and Zoro laughed, the sound rushing out from deep within his belly.

* * *

**Some years pass, and a hunger-strike has caused shenanigans...**

The boat really was tiny, almost pathetically so, and he let his captain know as much. The slightly-too-large strawhat nested above the boy's head almost fell when he turned to smile at Zoro. The sun continued to reflect into his eyes.

(A captain – this stringy guy? Zoro couldn't even imagine scoring better.)

Soon his captain was practically lounging on his lap, as Luffy – said captain – stuck his nose nearly flush with Zoro's bare chest, the freshly dismissed pirate hunter's sea-water soaked shirt presently drying in an impractical pile on the other end of their watercraft. They had known each other for five hours, tops, but the kid was very buddy-buddy all the same. Zoro pushed Luffy's face away from his space, yet the other couldn't stop smiling.

"Mannn, I'm really lucky to have you as my new friend. And my first crew mate, too! You've got that funny green hair going on – "

"Hey now."

"– and you're super nice even though you try to look all scary and angry all the time... and you've got that badass scar! I swear I've never _ever_ seen scars as gnarly as that one. This is _the_ most successful first day as a pirate captain!"

Zoro cocked his head to the side, measuring him for a second with his gaze. "Does the captain need to know the story of these scars?"

"Nah! Look, I've got _this_ thing on _my_ face," Luffy pulled at the skin under the stitched mark on his cheek, "but now that _you're_ here the crew's vibe is even more super-cool! I wanna have loads of friends with dope scars like yours!!"

This was how they worked together for a long time, for long after that first voyage. He and Luffy shared something about their outlooks on life, Zoro mused sometimes, scratching at his chest, the increased amount of scars on it. Migrant beings, ever-moving, rarely changing. More free with each passing nautical mile.

**Author's Note:**

> Title nicked and modified from C.S. Lewis' quote: “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” I thought it might fit this one.
> 
> My hc of trans Zoro includes a healthy dose of self-esteem and idgaf-sorta attitude towards other people's opinions. I'm also a big fan of trans Zoro who never feels the need to get top surgery since he's so comfortable in his skin, but this fic became pretty heavily dependent on the idea of him just wanting to ”get it done and over with”... I just wanted to see him mess around with a sword, yknow?
> 
> Is Kuina trans in this fic? Or is it the influence of her father somehow messing with her self-image? Something else?? Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. I didn't necessarily think of her as trans when writing her, but maybe she'd have grown up to come out as an enby-individual or like a lesbian who likes to bind her chest every now and then (the lesbian part is imperative ok? haha), who's to say. She/her pronouns for her for the simple reason that I thought it'd make the most sense in Zoro's mind, since they didn't get to talk about gender seriously as kids… but there's absolutely no right or wrong interpretation to this, if anyone's wondering.
> 
> I like to imagine that Zoro, Johnny and Yosaku grew really close in a really short period of time, so the guys are sorta intense, maybe… I wanted them to be super supportive of their little bro! So I did just that!!
> 
> Sorry for making Zoro's personality like .. like so, lmao. I look at his stupid (affectionate) green hair and immediately reduce his character to excessive swearing and dumb ”will he-won't he die” -scenarios, oh no...


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